


Coming Home to Roost

by debwalsh, the_genderman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Developing Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mating Flight (Dragonriders of Pern), Pern-typical homophobia, Seventh Interval (Dragonriders of Pern)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 06:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12206037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debwalsh/pseuds/debwalsh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: "I shouldn’t feel so strongly about him, but I do. He has a confidence that could so easily become arrogance, and that should put me off of him, but it doesn’t. Because I don’t think he wants it, but that’s how he was raised. And to have been made a Wingsecond to the Weyrleader so young? Everyone expects him to be a leader and he is good at it, but in the quiet moments when he thinks no one is looking at him, I’m not so sure that’s what he wants."S'muel has a few relationship-related trust issues. St'ven hasn't had much relationship experience at all. Their awkward beginnings.Writing by the_genderman, art by debwalsh





	Coming Home to Roost

**Author's Note:**

> All mentions of sexual activity during mating flights are intended to describe anonymous, but consensual, pairings
> 
> MCU names have been Pern'ified. 
> 
> Sam = S'muel, green Wilsith  
> Steve = St'ven, brown Rojeth  
> Sharon = Sharren, gold Carth  
> Riley = R'ley, blue Monoth  
> Sarah = Sarra  
> Gideon = Gideun  
> Darlene is still Darlene
> 
>  
> 
> [The T-rated version](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12206169)

* * *

[](http://i.imgur.com/xyKkzQY.jpg)

* * *

S’muel woke, warm and sated. Warm from the man pressed skin-to-skin against his back, arm wrapping gently around his stomach. Sated for the same reason. He reached out with his mind to his dragon, but Wilsith was still asleep. It had been a long mating flight for a green. (Firestone may make the greens sterile, but it didn’t change their instincts.) With Wilsith sleeping, he couldn’t ask her who she had allowed to catch her. When he was younger, S’muel had been more idealistic, but some unfortunate experiences had soured him to long-term relationships. After that, he had told Wilsith to choose whichever mate she wished, he would deal with their rider when the time came. Each time Wilsith rose, S’muel allowed her emotions to wash over him, to take things as they came and just enjoy the sex. No one ever said you _had_ to be friends with your dragon’s mate’s rider. It was the usual thing, but it wasn’t required. Figuring out whether or not he wanted to allow himself to become close with his new weyrmate would first involve finding out who he was. S’muel shifted onto his back and turned his head to look at the man who had bedded him.

The man was tall and well built. His hair was a straight sandy blond, short enough to fit comfortably under a rider’s helmet, but not close-cropped like S’muel’s dark curls. The hair over his forehead was long enough to run his fingers through, and given how it stuck up, it looked like he probably did so with some frequency. His face was familiar, but S’muel couldn’t quite place it yet. The man smiled in his sleep, eyelids flickering open. Blue eyes met brown. St’ven. That’s who he was. The eldest son of the Lord Holder of Fort Hold. The young man who had been groomed to lead Pern’s oldest and most venerable Hold, but who had been unexpectedly Searched instead and had Impressed a brown and was now Wingsecond to the Weyrleader. Who was also seven turns younger than him. Well, if Wilsith liked St’ven’s dragon, then he would figure out how to live with St’ven.

“Morning,” St’ven said, smiling shyly.

“Morning,” S’muel echoed, waiting.

They lay there for a few moments, just taking each other in, neither entirely sure where to go next.

St’ven began again. “I’ve seen you around, but I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. I’m St’ven, I ride brown Rojeth, Wingsecond to R’dey.”

“I’m S’muel, green Wilsith, in K’dan’s Wing.”

“Nice to meet you, S’muel,” St’ven said, sitting up in bed and swinging his legs over the side. “Rojeth has just woken up and informed me that he’s hungry. I have to say I feel the same way. Would you care to join me in the Great Hall for breakfast or should I get someone to bring us food here?”

 _I’m hungry too_ , Wilsith said sleepily. _I want to eat the whole wherry this time. May I?_

 _Of course you may, my star_ , S’muel responded silently. _It’s only before your mating flights that you have to eat lightly so that you can fly your best._

_Good. I am hungry enough to eat three wherries. I will go eat with Rojeth. I like him. Do you like his rider?_

_I don’t really know him very well_ , S’muel answered honestly. _But don’t worry, as long as you’re happy, I’m happy._

S’muel returned his mind to the small weyr and noticed St’ven watching him, half dressed, shirt still hanging loosely in his hands.

“Talking to Wilsith?” St’ven asked. “You looked like you went elsewhere for a moment there.”

“Yeah, she woke up and she’s hungry, too,” S’muel replied, climbing out of bed and finding the clothes he had thrown aside yesterday. “She’s going to go eat with Rojeth. I think I’d prefer to go down to eat, rather than bring food here or into either of our weyrs.”

“Oh!” St’ven exclaimed suddenly. “Thank you for reminding me. Rojeth has flown in mating flights before, but this is the first time he’s had any success. Do we move into your and Wilsith’s weyr or is it the other way around? I know that the bronzeriders move into the goldriders’ weyrs, but I wasn’t sure if it was different for greenriders.”

“Why would it be?” S’muel said, maybe a little more sharply than he intended; St’ven was still relatively young and inexperienced. He softened his tone. “It isn’t different; the greenrider’s weyrmate moves in with him. I know what they say about us greenriders, but we’re just as human as everyone else. Some of us have had the same partner since first flight, some of us are more changeable.”

“Oh, ok. I’m sorry I assumed,” St’ven said, sounding actually sorry. “I’ve been with the Weyr for five turns now, and I’m still constantly learning new things. I think I’ll wait until after I eat to move my things, though.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” S’muel replied, finishing dressing.

\------------------------

Wilsith swam contentedly in the shallow lake within the Weyr bowl, paddling into the deeper water to rinse the scrubbing-sand from her hide. S’muel stood ankle-deep in the water and far enough away to not get drenched when she spread her wings, letting the water run off, and flapped a bit to dry them. A woman’s voice behind him made him turn.

“So you’re the lucky first.” The speaker was Sharren, one of the junior weyrwomen, and she was looking him over thoughtfully. Her gold Carth, though younger, was almost twice as large as Wilsith, who hurriedly splashed out of her way as she waded into the water.

“First at what?” S’muel asked.

“St’ven’s first, of course,” Sharren smiled. “You didn’t know? There’s been marks wagered on who’d finally end up being the first person he took to bed. Probably half the women here have at least considered him. Loraina said that she’d let a brown fly her Mereth if it meant getting St’ven into her weyr. Part of the betting has been whether one of the women would succeed first or if he’d choose a greenrider.”

S’muel gave her a look back, trying to tell if she was poking fun at him or not. “You win anything off of this?”

“Officially, no,” Sharren shook her head. “Doesn’t look good for queenriders to fraternize with the betmakers. Unofficially, I’ve got eight marks coming my way. I said he’d be too shy to make a move on anyone unless Rojeth chose for him.”

“Thanks?” S’muel said, not quite sure how to proceed with this line of conversation. “But if you want him, I probably won’t be laying any kind of claim. I haven’t been in a serious relationship for about five turns now, and who even knows if he’d want to go steady with a greenrider? The first night’s one thing, it’s all the other nights when you find out he’s not really interested in you.”

Sharren shrugged. “You’ve got the best chance of any of us to figure that out. Good luck.”

\-----------------------

Three sevendays later, and things were going well enough. With the last Pass two turns gone, all the riders and their dragons were being allowed a much greater leisure than if they had Thread to fight, and most of the Weyr was taking full advantage of it. Wilsith was still quite besotted with Rojeth, following him around, sunning with him on the Fort Weyr heights, and even sharing her prey with him. S’muel couldn’t quite say the same for himself and St’ven. He found St’ven attractive enough, but he didn’t know if St’ven felt the same about him. Brown and bronze dragons did fly greens, but that didn’t necessarily mean their riders preferred the human pairing. And to the best of his knowledge, St’ven had never shown any interest in men. (All the more reason not to get _too_ fond of him, S’muel thought.)

They were courteous, certainly, but they hadn’t grown close yet. St’ven was kind, but he could tend towards authoritative without fully realizing it. Probably from his upbringing; he had been raised with the expectation that he would one day lead Fort Hold, and the Lord Holder had to be able to command his Hold without reluctance or indecision. And once with the Weyr, he had been promoted to Wingsecond quite young. Not that he held that against St’ven since if he overstepped and was confronted with it, he did apologize, but greenriders like S’muel got enough casual condescension from so many of the bronzeriders on a regular basis that he didn’t want it in his personal relationships, too. (Greenriders made up a full half of the fighting dragons in the Weyrs; they were a lot more important than some of those bronzeriders wanted to believe.)

That said, S’muel did think that St’ven was getting better about it. Being in a partnership, not a position of authority, and he was beginning to relax. When St’ven had Impressed, people had talked about how they thought he should have Impressed bronze because of his status and bloodline, and what if Rojeth had been just a little later in breaking his shell… S’muel was beginning to see that perhaps St’ven was more truly suited to having a calm and balanced brown mellowing him out, no matter what others might say.

And, perhaps, he might be becoming friends with St’ven. He wouldn’t go so far as to say they were truly lovers, but they were weyrmates and they might even be friends.

\----------------------

Things never did stay simple for very long, did they? S’muel and St’ven were eating a late breakfast in the kitchens, sitting at the short table by the hearth where the cooks took their meals. S’muel was listening to St’ven’s story about how he had actually been away at Ruatha, not home at Fort Hold, when he had been Searched, when Wilsith suddenly interrupted.

 _He has returned. He is coming to find you_ , she said, agitation coloring her thoughts.

S’muel almost asked her who she meant. He stiffened, remembering. He clenched his jaw, mentally bracing himself.

“Are you ok?” St’ven asked, pausing in his account.

“Wilsith just gave me some unwelcome news,” S’muel responded, a little evasively. He didn’t want to bring St’ven into this. He stood up, leaving his half-eaten breakfast on the table. “I have to go. Stay here, I shouldn’t be long.”

“Wait,” St’ven said, standing up and making to follow S’muel. “What’s wrong?”

“An ex-weyrmate,” S’muel explained, hoping an explanation might convince St’ven to stay out of things. “We have a difficult history together. I had a falling-out with him and ended things for good around five turns ago, but every so often he gets the idea in his head that we should have stayed together and he comes and bothers me about it. Don’t worry. I know how to handle him. Please, wait here.”

S’muel turned and walked towards the main doorway from the kitchens to the Great Hall, hoping to head off T’ran before he reached the kitchens. Keep St’ven as far out of this as possible.

Too late. The bluerider appeared in the doorway, making himself appear as large as he could with his hands on his hips and elbows out.

“I see how it is,” T’ran said, indignation coloring his voice. “You wait until I take leave to see my family back in Hold Gar to let Wilsith rise in order to keep me away.”

“You know very well that I have no control over when she rises, none of us do,” S’muel rebutted, standing tall and planting his feet. “And even if she had waited until you had returned, you know she wouldn’t have chosen Kadith. It’s been five turns now, it’s not going to happen again. The sooner you realize this the better. I’m sure there’s someone out there for you, but that someone is not me.”

S’muel turned his back on T’ran and started to walk towards the small table where St’ven was standing. T’ran reached out and grabbed S’muels wrist.

“I wasn’t done talking,” T’ran hissed.

“Well, I was and I am. Don’t touch me,” S’muel said, shaking himself free. He turned to walk away. He heard Wilsith and Rojeth roar in solidarity. Rojeth adding his voice probably should have tipped him off.

St’ven strode confidently over and placed himself between S’muel and T’ran, using his size and proximity to T’ran as leverage. “I suggest that you listen to him.”

“Why?” T’ran laughed, trying not to look intimidated. “Are you hoping to keep him for yourself? S’muel is fickle, as green as his dragon. One moment he says he loves you, the next moment he doesn’t want anything to do with you. He’ll turn you out like a tunnel snake as soon as Wilsith rises again.”

“Don’t speak of him like that,” St’ven said sharply, crowding T’ran’s space and keeping his body between T’ran and S’muel. “He’s his own man, he makes his own decisions. One of which was to ask you to leave him alone.”

T’ran looked like he was going to argue but thought better of it. “You’re lucky dragonriders don’t duel each other over petty insults like this,” he called over his shoulder as he stalked out of the kitchen.

“I asked you to stay out of this. I had it handled,” S’muel said, walking around St’ven until they were facing each other, trying to keep his voice level.

“He grabbed you,” St’ven replied. “What was I supposed to do, just stand there?”

“Yes, you were,” S’muel said. “I told you. I have dealt with T’ran long enough now, I know what he does, and I know how he responds. I know how to handle him. Do you know what would have happened next if you had stayed at the table like I asked you to? I would have walked off, he would have stood there and sulked for a minute and then turned and left. He does the same thing every time. He’s all smoke and no flame. But when you stepped in, that changed things. Instead, he insulted me and indirectly threatened you before leaving. Is that really what you wanted?”

St’ven opened his mouth to respond, but shut it without speaking. He slumped his shoulders. He looked down at the ground for a few moments before raising his head again.

“No. It wasn’t. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my fight, and I overstepped my bounds. I should have listened to you and trusted that you knew what you were doing. How can I make it up to you?” St’ven asked, his voice quieter and much less confident than S’muel had heard before.

“I can’t send you back to your own weyr because I’m not upset with Rojeth, but if you could stay out of my way for the next sevenday, give me some space to myself, I would appreciate that,” S’muel explained slowly.

St’ven hung his head. “I understand.”

\------------------------

Four days had passed. S’muel lay in bed, not yet asleep. By the light of a half-covered glow basket, he watched St’ven from across the weyr as he slept, slightly too large for the cot he had borrowed, but not complaining. St’ven had taken his words to heart. S’muel had caught him sneaking the occasional forlorn glance his way, but he didn’t try to beg, plead, or excuse his actions. He knew that what he’d done had upset S’muel and he was determined to make it up to him by adhering to the terms put to him.

 _You’re worried about him_. Wilsith’s voice suddenly in his head.

 _A little worried, but more conflicted_ , S’muel replied silently, climbing out of bed and walking over to Wilsith where she lay curled up next to a sleeping Rojeth. S’muel stroked her eyeridges and continued. I shouldn’t feel so strongly about him, but I do. He has a confidence that could so easily become arrogance, and that should put me off of him, but it doesn’t. Because I don’t think he wants it, but that’s how he was raised. And to have been made a Wingsecond to the Weyrleader so young? Everyone expects him to be a leader and he is good at it, but in the quiet moments when he thinks no one is looking at him, I’m not so sure that’s what he wants.

 _Rojeth said that he became upset when Kadith’s rider grabbed you, and that Rojeth felt not a possessiveness, but a protectiveness, from him_ , Wilsith continued. _Rojeth says that his rider does not like it when people bully others, or try to force them to do things they don’t want to. And afterwards, he realized that in his haste to protect you from Kadith’s rider, that he had disregarded everything you had asked him to do. Rojeth said that his rider was ashamed of his actions and wished only to reconcile with you however you chose to do it. I believe that he loves you._

St’ven was in love with him? It wasn’t unheard of for brownriders to have inclinations towards _both_ women and men, but for one who had never been with a man before and had barely shown any interest in the women in the Weyr? And so soon? It hadn’t even been a full month since Rojeth had flown Wilsith. Of course, he thought to himself, St’ven was still young and optimistic and untainted by the bitterness that had grown in him. S’muel wondered: if he tried, could he begin to put that behind him? He didn’t really want to stay angry at the world. If they both put in the effort, perhaps they could work something out. He hoped he wouldn’t regret what he was planning to do.

\---------------------------------

S’muel rose early, but St’ven had already left his cot and gone down to eat. S’muel joined him at his table in the Great Hall, sliding in across from him. St’ven looked up, eyes wide.

“It’s ok, I’m cutting your exile short. You can talk to me again,” S’muel said, trying to assuage St’ven’s alarm.

“Thank you,” St’ven said, setting down his breadroll and passing the butter dish to S’muel. “I’m sorry again for what I did. I can’t swear that I’ll never do it again without meaning to, but I will try very hard not to. You deserve better than that.”

“I know,” S’muel said, accepting the butter and spreading it on his own breadroll. “And I may have been a little too harsh on you, you were only trying to help me. You didn’t know that there was no substance behind T’ran. If I saw a bronzerider, grab you like that, I would be upset, too. I accept your apology and I hope you’ll accept mine.”

“Of course, I accept,” St’ven said, smiling up at S’muel.

“I’m glad that’s taken care of,” S’muel said. “I think you deserve a bit of an explanation for why I’ve been so closed off.”

“I have to admit, I _would_ like to know,” St’ven said. “I didn’t say anything because I’m sure you have your reasons, but I did wonder.”

“To begin with, T’ran is a large part of why I’ve been so distant from my weyrmates for these past few turns. He and I actually used to be close, once. After five turns together, Wilsith chose Monoth over Kadith and T’ran and I parted amiably. The dragon chooses, then the riders decide what to do from there. I fell hard for Monoth’s rider, R’ley. We were good together. And,” S’muel said, crossing his arms and staring at the ground, “with Threadfighting what it is, casualties happen. It was a difficult fall, very windy and the Threads were clumping. I saw Monoth dodge and flame one clump only to have the wind turn suddenly and throw the whole clump, burning but still half-live, straight back at R’ley. Monoth went _between_ and didn’t return. T’ran offered me a shoulder to cry on. Then when Wilsith rose again and didn’t choose Kadith again, he got upset and accused me of taking advantage of his kindness. We fought. After that, I pulled back, wouldn’t let myself become too close to anyone so I couldn’t be hurt again. And honestly, until now, it worked.”

“What changed?” St’ven asked.

“You,” S’muel said simply.

“Me?”

“You. On the surface, everything about you, the intense self-confidence you project, your rank, your blood status, your youth, says that I shouldn’t want to get close to you, but I do. You’re a good man, and I ought not to have prejudged you. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, but you don’t owe me an apology for that. And the self-confidence? A lot of that’s a long-practiced mask, honestly. I have to say, I was a little intimidated at first when I learned how long you had been with the Weyr, how long you had flown Threadfalls. I didn’t know what I could have in common with you with only two turns of it under my belt and Impressed at a fairly late age compared to other dragonriders. I went into this hoping only for company, and you have given me that.”

“Only company?”

St’ven tipped his head shyly. “Well, I’ve found you attractive for quite a while now but honestly, you carry yourself with a confidence that feels much more real to me than my own, you know what you want and what you don’t, that I was too shy to approach you. I hoped that Wilsith would choose Rojeth, but I didn’t want to hope for more than companionship in case you didn’t want more than that from me. Just because I want something, doesn’t mean I will or should always get it.”

S’muel smiled. He appreciated St’ven’s honesty, speaking the truth even when it didn’t fully benefit him.

“I’d like to try to rectify that,” S’muel said. “I was thinking about asking for leave to visit my family at the Weavercrafthall for a month. Would you care to join me?”

“You want me to meet your family?” St’ven’s eyes went wide again.

“Well, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” S’muel hastily amended. “But if you would care to join me at the Weavercrafthall, enjoy our hospitality, sample the fine fruits of Southern Boll, and relax on our beaches, you’re welcome to come. The Weavercrafthall welcomes all visitors.”

“There are beaches at Fort Seahold, but I don’t think I’ve ever been to one to relax before. We were always too busy with Hold matters when we made the trip down to the Seahold, and with Thread falling, everything had to be well timed and we never made time to swim or sun,” St’ven admitted with a very slight blush. “Will it be warm enough?”

“Then I must insist that you visit,” S’muel said with a broad smile. Things were looking up. “I love my family, but there will be at least one day where all I want to do is get away from all of them. And when that happens, you and I and Wilsith and Rojeth can all go swimming. And yes, it’ll be warm enough.”

“I’d like that,” St’ven said, smiling back.

\-----------------------------

“I see you’ve brought a ‘friend’ with you,” Sarra said, elbowing her brother conspiratorially.

S’muel and his family were seated together for dinner. Because of his rank within Fort Weyr, St’ven had been asked to the head table with the Masterweaver and her family, and he couldn’t well refuse the invitation. There would be time enough for him and S’muel to spend with each other on this visit.

“I have,” S’muel said cautiously.

“You’re going to have to give us more than that,” Sarra continued, glancing up towards the head table. “How long has it been since we’ve met any of your weyrmates? Not a word about any of them since… in a long time, and now you bring one home to visit us. You’re serious about him, aren’t you?”

“I think I want to be, and I think he wants to be, too, but it’s going to take some work,” S’muel admitted. “It’s been so long since I’ve put in any real effort towards a relationship, and he was betrothed to marry one of the Ruathan Lord Holder’s daughters. He told me that before Rojeth flew Wilsith, he was too busy trying to live up to his duties and expectations to enter into a relationship. Neither of us are on what you could call a firm footing, but we’re willing to try.”

“I think I’m starting to see why you brought him to visit. Just look, he’s got Master Yenna laughing already,” Gideun said, pointing surreptitiously at St’ven. “And you know how reserved she is around guests, having to put on a serious face to represent the entire Weavercraft.”

“And you could do a lot worse than a Lord Holder’s son, given the way you two have been looking at each other since you arrived. Even if Weyrfolk don’t marry and you two probably won’t ever give me grandchildren. Although, if either of you feels inclined to find a willing girl, I would be more than happy to foster,” Darlene added, a perceptive smile on her face.

“Mother!” S’muel covered his face, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

\----------------------------

The day was hot and cloudless, but there was just enough of a breeze to keep things pleasant. The salt scent of the sea mingled with the flowers of the lush forests of Southern Boll. S’muel was lying back on the light cotton blanket he had brought to minimize his contact with the hot sand, a wide-brimmed hat shielding his eyes from the sun. He was using his neatly-folded robe as a pillow and was wearing only his undergarments. His hands were folded over his stomach. St’ven sat cross-legged next to him on his own blanket. He snuck another glance over at S’muel; the hair-thin, faded scars of fifteen turns of Threadfighting that showed on his arms and chest did nothing to change how attractive St’ven found him.

“How’s the Weavercrafthall treating you so far?” S’muel asked, bringing St’ven out of his reverie.

“Very well, thank you,” St’ven replied, turning to watch their dragons splashing in the surf. “I never knew there were so many different weaves and stitches and fabrics and dyes. I’m used to the colder weather wools and hides we have at Fort. Even our summer clothing isn’t as light as this; I didn’t know cloth could be woven so lightly.” He plucked at the brightly patterned linen robe he was still wearing.

“Southern Boll is hot, year-round,” S’muel explained. “That’s why I have so many furs on my bed. I’ve been at Fort Weyr for sixteen turns and I still get so cold in the winter and on the cool spring nights. Spring at Fort is temperate. Spring at Boll is beach weather.”

“I definitely agree with that,” St’ven said. “I don’t think I can remember full summer at Fort, Hold or Weyr, ever being as hot as this.” He paused for a moment. “Rojeth says the water is very nice if I’m too hot. I think I’m going to take him up on that. Would you care to join me?” St’ven stood up and extended his hand to S’muel.

“I would,” S’muel said, flashing a smile up at St’ven. He took St’ven’s hand and allowed him to pull him to his feet. He dropped his hat on top of his folded robe, and, watching St’ven out of the corner of his eye, stripped down completely nude.

St’ven’s cheeks went pink as he watched S’muel walk down to the water’s edge. He hurriedly disrobed and joined him.

\---------

Their dragons had been reluctant to leave the warm water, but it was approaching time for the evening meal and S’muel and St’ven would definitely have to change clothes before sitting down to eat. They were both still wet from the sea, their robes clinging to their bodies. St’ven cautiously wound an arm around S’muel’s waist, watching his response. S’muel did the same, pulling St’ven closer to him. St’ven sighed and smiled broadly. His hand crept slowly down and he squeezed S’muel’s ass.

S’muel reached back and pulled St’ven’s hand back up onto his waist.

“Sorry. Not the right time?” St’ven asked.

“Only in that it’s almost dinner time and if we get started on that right now, we won’t finish in time to eat,” S’muel replied.

“Good point,” St’ven laughed.

\------------------------

“I’m sorry, but I’ve never been so impatient for a harper to finish. Usually I like the after-dinner music and entertainment, but…” St’ven trailed off.

“…But you had something a little different in mind in the way of entertainment, didn’t you?” S’muel finished for him.

“Too true,” St’ven said, grinning eagerly at S’muel. “You do want to do this, right? I’m not pressuring you? I want to be sure this is something you want.”

“Don’t worry. I know we started out on shaky ground, but I’ve warmed up to you a lot. I want this.” He paused, then added “My family likes you, too. They were a little bothered at first after I Impressed Wilsith—greenriders and their _tendencies_ , you know—but having a dragonrider in the family does wonders to open hidebound minds. And they know that Weyrfolk don’t marry like Holdfolk or Craftfolk do, but if we did, they approve of you,” S’muel added with a laugh, giving St’ven’s shoulder a playful shove.

“Oh, wow,” St’ven said. “Looks like I’ve got a lot to live up to. Guess I’d better get started then.” He took S’muel’s hands in his and pulled him close for a kiss.

From the fireheights of the Hall came the soft warbles of two dragons pleased for their riders.

St’ven paused. “We won’t bother anyone in the Hall or Hold if we do this, will we? When Rojeth flew Wilsith, it didn’t matter, because it was us feeling them. What happens if it’s them feeling us instead?”

“Don’t worry,” S’muel said, rubbing his thumbs over St’ven’s knuckles soothingly. “They won’t fly or roar or anything too obvious. They’ll probably just neck a little and feel happy for us. At least that’s what Wilsith usually does.”

“Oh, good,” St’ven said, sounding relieved. He let go of S’muel’s hands to run his fingers through his hair. “I know at Fort Hold things are fairly traditional—hidebound, like you said—and we all knew what happened after you got married, but you didn’t exactly trumpet the fact that it was happening through the halls of the Hold. From what you said about after your Impression, I’m guessing Southern Boll and the Weavercrafthall are similarly minded.”

S’muel nodded his head in agreement. “True. But don’t let that stop you; like you said, everyone knows it happens.”

He took off his belt and, holding the ends in his hands, looped it loosely around St’ven’s shoulders and pulled him close to kiss him again. St’ven stepped out of his sandals as he moved towards S’muel, placed one hand gently on the back of his neck and slid the other up under his tunic. S’muel let the belt drop to the floor and moved his hands to St’ven’s waist, slowly, teasingly unbuckling his belt and unlacing his trousers.

“Oh, that’s how it is?” St’ven said with a grin, breaking the kiss. “In that case, I guess I’ll just have to do this—” and he nudged S’muel’s arms up so he could pull his tunic over his head, tossing it haphazardly onto their bed. St’ven followed suit with his own shirt and trousers as S’muel kicked off his sandals and stepped out of his own trousers, adding to the growing pile of discarded clothing.

“By the First Egg, I’ll never get tired of seeing you like this,” St’ven whistled. “Look at you. You’re perfect.”

“Scars and all?” S’muel replied wryly. “Look at you compared to me, you’re practically unblemished.”

“You’re a dragonrider,” St’ven said emphatically. “You flew Threadfalls for thirteen turns, and I only had two. Your scars are proof that you have done your duty to keep all of us safe. And now that this Pass is over, they show that you have more than earned your leisure. And your pleasure,” he chuckled. “Although you deserve that no matter what.”

“I won’t argue with that, but sometimes they make me feel a little self-conscious,” S’muel said, walking over to the bed and pushing their clothes further off to the side. He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his hand across his chest, his thumb following the line of his oldest scar. It _had_ faded to near invisibility, he admitted to himself.

“You didn’t seem to mind too much at the beach. May I ask what changed?”

“Different circumstances. The beach was less intimate, and there were distractions.”

St’ven knelt down in front of S’muel and lay his cheek against his knee, staring up at him. “No scars down here,” he said, eyes sparkling. “And I think I can provide a distraction, if you want one.”

S’muel laughed. He spread his legs in unspoken approval and leaned back, bracing himself on his hands.

St’ven pressed his lips to the inside of S’muel’s thigh. He trailed slow kisses across the skin, listening to the little sounds, soft, shy even, that S’muel was making. S’muel’s penis was already hard by the time he reached it. St’ven nuzzled into the hair surrounding it, taking in as much of him as he could; sight, smell, sound, touch, and taste. He took himself in one hand, lifting the other to gently fondle S’muel’s balls.

“Tell me what you want,” St’ven murmured.

“I want you,” S’muel sighed in response. “And I want you to want me. I want to feel wanted, loved, trusted. I want to trust you.”

“I will do everything I can to give you that,” St’ven said earnestly.

St’ven wet his lips and slowly, deliberately took S’muel’s dick into his mouth, sliding down the shaft. S’muel moaned encouragement and let himself fall back to lie flat on the bed. St’ven bobbed faster. It was pretty clear that he hadn’t done this before, but he was giving it an enthusiastic effort.

S’muel brought his hands to his chest, ghosting his fingers down over his ribs and returning to his nipples. The cool, light touch of his fingertips and the warm, heavy press of St’ven’s mouth made his breath come faster, panting out wordless syllables. St’ven began to stroke S’muel’s thighs, his hands gentle but firm in their ministrations. It was more than enough. S’muel gasped and came. St’ven pulled off, a somewhat disconcerted look on his face. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Everything alright?” S’muel asked, raising himself slightly onto his elbows so he could see St’ven better.

“Yes, I just… I’ve never _tasted_ it before. I had an idea what I wanted to do, and how I was supposed to do it, but I wasn’t really prepared,” St’ven said, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed next to S’muel.

“It’s an acquired taste,” S’muel nodded. “How do you want me to take care of you?”

“Surprise me?”

“Taking the ‘I want to feel trusted’ right to heart?” S’muel laughed as he sat up and pressed his leg against St’ven’s. St’ven just smiled back at him.

Keeping the length of his thigh pressed against St’ven’s, S’muel twisted his body towards him and lifted one hand to his jaw to kiss him. His other hand found its way to St’ven’s dick and began to stroke leisurely. St’ven leaned into the touch and wrapped his hand gently around S’muel’s. Together they brought him over and collapsed back onto the bed.

“Mmm, that was good,” St’ven mumbled. “Thank you.”

\---------------------------

The Pass might be over, but St’ven was still a Wingsecond and he still had Wingsecond duties to attend to. S’muel watched as St’ven and his fellow brown- and bronzeriders walked off to their meeting with the Weyrleader. He, however, wasn’t quite done with his breakfast. He bit into a second redfruit when Sharren sat down at the table across from him. He swallowed quickly to greet her properly, but she forestalled him.

“Don’t worry about it. This is an informal meeting,” she said. “I just wanted to congratulate you. For five months into a brand new relationship, you two are looking awfully committed. It looks good on both of you. Who knew that to get St’ven out of his duty-above-all mindset would take someone as relationship-shy as you?”

S’muel shrugged. “I’m still not entirely sure what happened, but I’m glad it did. I like him a lot, and I haven’t felt this _good_ about a weyrmate in a long time. I wouldn’t say I’d shout it to the heights yet, but I’m optimistic that we might even end up back together after Wilsith’s next flight.”

Sharren smiled at him. “I hope you do. I’ll go ahead and wish you good luck again.”

With that, she stood up abruptly and walked off, leaving S’muel feeling oddly gratified.

\----------------------------

With a final defiant screech, broadcasting her emotions, Wilsith launched herself into the air, followed quickly by a flurry of blue, brown, and bronze wings. S’muel’s heart raced as he watched her climb rapidly into the sky. This was the moment of truth. He scanned through the small crowd milling around him. St’ven was there, eyes skyward. The dragon chose, but if her rider had a preference, then that could sway the outcome. For the first time in a long time, S’muel hoped it would.

\-------

S’muel woke to warm, steady breaths on his neck. He yawned, exhaling slowly.

“Oh good, you’re awake. I’m getting kind of hungry and you’re lying on my arm,” St’ven said with a laugh.

“Good morning to you, too,” S’muel smiled. It was a good morning.

* * *

* * *


End file.
